


Simple

by vesper_house



Series: Morning Comes [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DCU (Movies), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Clark, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Top Bruce, domesticity with a sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vesper_house/pseuds/vesper_house
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evening at Bruce's lake house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple

**Author's Note:**

> So. I have been struggling with a writer's block. Nothing was coming out the way I wanted... except the scenarios that took place in the Before Dawn verse. Turns out it's my happy place. This little piece helped me get back on track and I know a lot of you felt that Before Dawn wasn't really finished... and I was thinking of writing Part 9 but it didn't feel right...
> 
> ...so, uh, Before Dawn: Season 2 - Morning Comes, anyone?
> 
> \---

Bruce always thought that relationships were supposed to be hard.

Even if he had not chosen to become the Batman, he suspected that he would lead a lonely life for the rest of his days anyway: he was broken in a way that made real intimacy feel almost painful. Loneliness was not an ideal state, but it was the one he knew best. Feelings would only break what he had – Bruce believed that relationship equals disturbance. Not to mention he was not exactly a model example of an emotionally available individual. The hypothetical significant other was bound to be disappointed with him since he did not have much to offer.

They sit on the opposite sides of the table in Bruce’s house. Clark is rewriting a draft of his latest article. The intense scowl says that he hates it immensely. Bruce struggles with his work as well: he has to come up with a reasonable explanation for a tenfold increase in the expenses of Wayne Enterprises’ space program. Investors are not happy with the project as it is and right now Bruce cannot afford to lose their money. His head hurts from thinking about how many lies it will take to hide the real purpose of the program.

Despite the displeasure they both feel towards their tasks, the atmosphere is peaceful. Bruce likes these moments. People usually accused him of being cold, distant, or downright condescending for being silent most of the time. Clark was different – he needed peace and quiet just as much as Bruce did. Just like him, he too spent most of his life alone. That type of lifestyle often made it difficult to connect with others, and yet there is no awkwardness, no tension hanging in the air as they sit in the same room but do not talk: having company is enough. Their secrets are out in the open and they are who they are.

It is easy.

Bruce is getting tired of work. He cannot focus on the numbers anymore, so he observes the way Clark’s face changes during typing. He has glasses on – says they help him think – and frowns like the laptop itself did something extremely offensive. Bruce can feel something rising in his chest, something he would prefer to remain nameless, so he acts in a way he knows all too well to effectively shut it down:

“Wanna fuck?”

Clark does not even look up from the screen. “No,” he says without a moment of hesitation. “Wait…” He sits up straight and looks to the side. The grimace on his face should be reserved for more complicated cases in Bruce’s humble opinion. “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Now it is Bruce’s turn to scowl.

“On one hand, I want to because, well…” Clark makes a vague hand gesture. “However, I really, really want to finish this as soon as possible, send it to the dropbox, forget about it, and then fuck until the morning comes. Fucking right now would be an unwelcome distraction.”

“Come on, it won’t take long.”

Clark rolls his eyes. “You’re not really selling yourself right now.”

“What should I do then?” Bruce asks with mischievous grin. “I thought we have moved on from the cheesy pick up lines.”

“Actually, we haven’t. You never used one on me.”

“I didn’t?...” Bruce knows he did not. Clark gives him a pointed look. There is a hint of color in his cheeks.

“You’ve basically told me you wanted to come on my glasses.”

“Well, it worked.” Bruce gets up from his chair and moves to stand behind Clark, then gently nuzzles his ear.

“At least say something nice so I don’t come off as easy.” Clark says with a soft moan.

“Like what?” Bruce asks and bites his earlobe.

“I don’t know, something sexy? A compliment? Roses are red, violets are blue? You’re the playboy here.”

“Yeah, about that…” Bruce places hot kisses on his neck. “I’ve never really had to try, you know?”

“Then practice on me, let’s see how your charm works.”

Bruce sighs and stops to think. He is way too tired to wax poetic.

“Your hair smells nice… Your skin is soft…” He tries to be cute. Clark appreciates cuteness. “I wanna fuck, take your pants off.” All in all, cuteness is not his specialty.

“Bruce, no!” Clark pretends to be outraged when Bruce reaches for his zipper, but he cannot stop himself from giggling.

“Bruce yes!” They wrestle for a while and cackle like children, then Bruce takes Clark to the bedroom in a fireman carry.

“Unhand me, you brute!” Clark sighs dramatically.

“I think you mispronounced my name, sweetheart.”

There is one big difference between them when it comes to sex: for Bruce it is a way to forget and escape from the reality, similar to alcohol or drugs, whereas for Clark every intercourse is a small celebration of life, a source of joy one can experience only by being fully conscious. He is always present in the moment, almost ridiculously responsive to every caress, and Bruce gets drunk on him every single time.

Clark lands on the bed with a muffled groan. Bruce immediately gets on top of him and bites his lower lip while kissing. Afterwards he can feel Clark smiling on his lips. He sneaks his hands under his grey hoodie to feel the abnormally warm skin. For heaven’s sake, how is it possible that anyone could get him this hard, after all the one night stands and bitter morning afters. The truth is, Bruce was never attracted to effeminate men – Clark’s bulk and body hair turn him on more than all of the twinks in Gotham combined. He leaves a trail of kisses on the man’s pecs, ribs, abdomen, shivering at the thought of how much power hides beneath the beautifully human form. When he gets his mouth around the gorgeous cock, Clark gasps and grabs his hair. Bruce takes his time and sucks him off slowly, teasing the frenulum with the tip of the tongue. After a long while Clark’s pants and underwear end up on the floor with Bruce kneeling between his spread legs. He lifts them up slightly.

“Keep’em like that for me, will you?” Bruce asks, voice low and husky.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Clark lets out a lengthy moan when he feels the first lick on his entrance. It does not take long before he is a squirming, melting mess. His breathing gets heavier when Bruce opens him with fingers as well, eager to move things forward. Finally the puckered ring of muscles gives out a little: Bruce plunges into it with a guttural moan. He palms himself and after making sure that he is ready, moves to get the lube from the bedside drawer. Clark does not say anything, just watches as Bruce coats his cock with transparent gel. His lips turn into a perfect “o” shape when Bruce smoothly slides inside of him.

Clark is tight, the tightest Bruce ever had. He looks at his lover's abs working along his every thrust, the broad chest rising and falling, and then at his face. Christ almighty, if they ever make a porno, all Bruce needs is a close-up of Clark’s face – eyes closed, glasses skewed and falling off, cheeks pink and that _smile_ – no one ever smiled so widely while getting fucked this hard.

“I’m coming,” Clark announces weakly. He moans without any shame as he strokes himself, a steady stream of _yes, yes, yes_ way more louder than when they do it in his apartment in Metropolis. Bruce fucks him faster and suddenly remembers how Clark looks like when he is flying, bending steel, crushing rocks to dust with bare hands and the vision makes him even harder, all that might impaled on his dick, fucking begging for it with every breath…

“Aah, _shit.”_ Climax hits Bruce like a lightning strike.

“No, no, don’t you dare,” Clark protests, then feels the wetness inside of him. “No, you bastard! I was so close!”

“Sorry baby.” Bruce means it. He gets back between Clark’s legs and swallows him whole, sucks as hard as he can while still dizzy from his own orgasm. Clark comes down his throat with a high-pitched cry. After that Bruce licks the cum dripping out of him, just because.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” Clark says, struggling to catch a breath.

“Mhmm,” Bruce agrees. When he is done, he gets up and takes a look at Clark lying on the bed, relaxed and content. His hoodie is rolled up to his chin and he pats the bedding around him in search of the glasses. Bruce can feel himself smirking. His heart flutters in a strange way, one he is not used to feel, so he goes to the bathroom to stop himself from saying something stupid. Clark joins him there after a minute.

“Baby wipes are in the locker behind you,” Bruce informs and continues to brush his teeth.

“Always prepared.” Clark hugs him from behind and carefully bites his neck. “My dirty old man.”

“No supper if you keep talking like that.”

“What’s for supper?” Clark asks with his head on Bruce’s shoulder. He is a cuddler – Bruce did not get used to it yet.

“Grilled chicken over spinach with whole-wheat couscous,” Bruce answers and flushes his mouth.

“Sounds… healthy.”

“Well, some of us have to stay on diet.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.” Clark looks in the mirror. Bruce catches his glance and then sees the two of them: close, intimate, peaceful. _Damn, we look good together,_ Bruce thinks and suddenly stops breathing. Of course it does not escape Clark’s hyper attention.

“You okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, just tired,” Bruce is a smooth liar – he had a lot of practice over the years. He breaks the embrace and walks out from the bathroom. “I’m gonna change and start cooking.”

“Alright,” Clark says gently.

“Alfred made cheesecake!” Bruce yells on his way to the wardrobe and hears Clark whispering _“Score!”_ under his breath. Hoping that it was enough of a distraction, he reaches into his med stash, drops some Xanax and tries very, very hard to convince his scumbag brain that he is not in danger.

He has no idea how to cope with _easy._

 


End file.
